


Drowsy Spaces

by raspberrymadeline



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Feedee Dan, Feeder Phil, Feedism, Fluff, M/M, Weight Gain, feederism, just cuddles and contemplation, the most chaste feedism fic you'll ever read, there is no sex or eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrymadeline/pseuds/raspberrymadeline
Summary: Phil watched Dan from the bed as the latter dragged himself up, listening intently to the soft pad-shuffle of his feet hitting the carpet, mentally recording the sound as if to replay it at some later time or date. In case hearing it again would fill his body with the feelings he was feeling right now, tipsy-cinnamon-bedsheets-birthday cake feelings.





	Drowsy Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> (I was brainstorming the true nature of love and this was a rumble of thunder.)
> 
> Same universe as _Scarlet _, but can be read alone.__

Waking up had a blurry familiarity for Phil. Who, before he had moved in with Dan, had always spent his first waking moments staring at the ceiling and blinking and contemplating whether or not he could just go back to sleep. But nowadays the first thing he did upon opening his eyes was reach over to the bedside table and fumble his glasses onto his face. Then he could turn over and watch Dan’s sleeping form, free to sit in quiet awe.

This he did now, running his hands through messy hair before shuffling back under the covers. It was maybe 9am, definitely a Tuesday, and quite possibly a year and a month since they had mutually figured out that Dan liked eating quite a lot and Phil liked watching Dan eat quite a lot and something had happened between that time and this time right now, that is, Tuesday morning. Love, maybe; sex, definitely. A deeper understanding, quite possibly. Oreos, a given.

Everything about everything seemed perfect when they lay warm in these shared spaces between consciousness and sleep. Nothing about the pair seemed like it wouldn’t mesh together. Phil had been in relationships before, relationships that were beautiful for how unorthodox and flawed they were, quintessential crash-and-burn relationships that created skyrockets and sparks and were gorgeous mistakes. But he and Dan, they held a different sort of beauty: they were peek-of-sunlight-after-the-storm beautiful, melted-marshmallow-at-the-bottom-of-the-mug beautiful.

Phil was fairly certain Dan was already at least partially awake, and so he dragged one hand down the man’s side, Dan’s eyes immediately flitting open at the contact.

Phil smiled and Dan smiled back. They revelled in the lulling silence. Phil moved his hand up to touch Dan’s face, thumb slotting neatly into the space between his eye and cheekbone, fingers curling easily into his hair. Dan grinned and then caught his bottom lip between his teeth, though he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Finally, he drew away.

Phil watched Dan from the bed as the latter dragged himself up, listening intently to the soft pad-shuffle of his feet hitting the carpet, mentally recording the sound as if to replay it at some later time or date. In case hearing it again would fill his body with the feelings he was feeling right now, tipsy-cinnamon-bedsheets-birthday cake feelings.

When Dan stood there, sleepy in his sweatpants and old t-shirt, Phil could see all the places he had filled out over the past year or so. Dan had always been a tad effeminate and he gained weight girlishly, mostly in his tummy but with a noticeable heaviness in his thighs. And he stood there all lovely and doughy and bringing his hands up to rub his eyes so that his shirt hung high enough to reveal his bellybutton, and Phil in an act of blissful compulsion lurched forward to grab at Dan’s wrist, spinning and pulling him back down on top of him.

Letting out a disgruntled noise at the disturbance, Dan would have probably frowned and elbowed himself back up again were he not half asleep still. But Phil wrapped his arms around the other and hugged until all half-hearted squirming subsided into a gentle, heavy weight on Phil’s chest and the muted thud, thud of Dan’s heart. Phil knew Dan’s eyes were closed from the feeling of his face pressed against Phil’s neck. The thought of them just lying here, overwarm, until Dan fell back asleep was possibly the best thing that had crossed Phil’s mind ever. They had plans today and that was not entirely a good idea, but Phil would let them lie there for as long as his conscience would allow anyway, as he mused on the sensation of Dan’s hair tickling his face and the slow rise and fall of his shoulders.

Phil ran his hands gently down Dan’s back, pausing when Dan wriggled slightly and then continuing until he reached his love handles. He ghosted over them, pushing Dan’s shirt up and lightly pressing, feeling Dan respond by relaxing imperceptibly more into Phil. Maybe it was weird, but Phil loved everything about the gathered pudge at Dan’s hips, the swell that rose with mellow protest against the waistbands of skinny jeans, the gentle indicator of maybe-slightly-too-well-fed. He exhaled when he felt Dan’s face shifting to press a chaste kiss to his neck, and instinctively moved to squeeze, seizing the chub in both hands. Dan jerked forward, pressed his body hard against Phil’s, heartbeat accelerating. Phil could even feel his eyes open too, momentarily. Then, lazily, Phil’s fingers relaxed and Dan’s heart slowed and again lethargy settled, slow and warm and dense.

Yet for both of them breathing was shallow with a lingering, tiptoeing intensity. Phil felt in a smothered kind of a way a bit like a rattling teacup on a saucer, about to spill scalding liquid onto an innocent lap. Finally, he gathered some strength and Dan in his arms and carefully lugged him off, to the left, allowing him to flop on his back on the bed. Phil flipped on his side, watching from close proximity as Dan opened and closed his eyes sleepily at the disruption.

Tentatively, Phil pressed his nose into Dan’s neck, moving to wrap an arm around his middle. He kneaded at Dan’s tummy and felt the other nuzzle closer and all complex thought patterns in his brain devolved into primal, straightforward things, _warm_ and _plump_ and _protect_ and _thanks_.

When a long time had passed and Phil drew back to look at Dan, he could tell the latter was teetering on the edge of sleep. Phil gazed at Dan’s closed eyes and slightly parted mouth, and felt tenderness in his chest at his round cheeks, full like moons or clocks or saucers of milk. Dan was a grown man, but in this state he was childlike. Soft features. Drowsy innocence. And he had that abundance, that emerging heaviness, that telltale second-slice-of-cake-ness. And Phil knew that the blame was at least partially his but in this bubble of suspended time, half in and half out of the bedsheets, he let himself feel pleased. Euphoric, even. Because every pound was a tangible I-love-you, an unmistakable I-am-keeping-you-fed and an I-want-you-to-be-the-absolute-happiest. Phil touched Dan’s cheek with a curled index finger and Dan opened one kittenish eye. And then two.

“Hey.” Phil whispered. Dan mumbled and shut his eyes again. Phil allowed the silence for a few seconds. And then, “…we need to get up.”

Whining, Dan jerked to the left to squash his face into the pillow. Phil’s mouth quirked and he shuffled forwards to wriggle his arms about Dan’s waist, poking shyly at Dan’s somewhat generous belly. Dan, either with surprise or distinct unsurprise, let out a burst of quiet laughter. Eventually, he shifted around to lie on his back once more.

“Will you make me pancakes?” he murmured.

Phil had made mantras and lost tears from a lifetime of questioning himself but in this moment he let himself ask, rather, what was wrong with the rest of the world. Let himself wonder why anyone would ever want anything other than this. Let himself interrogate the society that told him _he_ was weird when it was obvious that he had it right—hugging an ample, sleepy someone near to your chest was indisputably the best feeling anyone had ever felt or could ever feel.

“Of course,” he said. And neither of them was quite sure why Dan wrapped his arms around Phil and pulled him firm and close at those words, but it was decided in mutual soundlessness that there was no need for explanation. Only one for quiet admiration, and kisses and syrup.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know 'unsurprise' is not a word, and neither is 'bedsheets'. I just wish they were, immensely. (Please don't revoke my poetic license!)  
> 


End file.
